


Myth of Immortality

by SingingFlames



Category: South Park
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-03
Updated: 2013-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-23 11:29:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/621642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SingingFlames/pseuds/SingingFlames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kenny ponders his life and deaths.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Myth of Immortality

**Author's Note:**

> Title: South Park - Myth of Immortality  
> Pairings: None  
> Rating: PG-13  
> Warnings: Language, Brief discriptions of gore  
> Author's Note: This is my Flash Fan Fiction Friday (4F) submission, for the theme of "Myth." For those not familiar with South Park, it's a running joke of the show to kill Kenny in most of the episodes (mainly in earlier seasons, not so much now). In a recent show, we learned that, while none of the other characters remember these deaths, Kenny remembers each one and knows he's dying over and over again. I found this horrible and wanted to explore it more.

Kenny woke up, eyes wide and shivering. Not again. Why did this keep happening to him?

In a cold sweat, he pulled his parka hood low down over his head. He wrapped his arms tightly around his chest. He could still feel it, remnants of last night's death; ribs crushing, lungs reduced to pulp in a brief second. A car, a goddamn car, ran him over. Again.

Not his worst death. Oh, no, he'd had worse. But the burning, horrible pain, even for just those few moments … God, he hated cars. Buses were worse. But at least they were fast. Well, faster than some other deaths. Some of his deaths just lingered, agony clinging to his fragile body but refusing to push him that last final step to freedom. 

How fucked up was his life, that he ranked his deaths? That he actually could say, "Oh, I've died worse."

Why did this happen? His friends never died. They walked down the street all the time, and pianos – _fucking pianos!_ – never fell on them. Cars, buses, or trains never flattened them. Not once. On the whole, most people lived everyday without dying. Not him. He'd died so much, he'd lost count. 

When others _did_ die, at least they did it right. They didn't wake up the next morning, in their bed. He'd stopped praying for an end. It never worked. Sometimes, he managed to stay dead longer, but eventually, he _always woke up_. 

It made him laugh, in a sad, bitter way, when he heard people wishing they could live forever. Clueless idiots. Immortality was a joke, a myth. If only he could free himself from it.


End file.
